


Too Late

by PolarGrizz47



Series: Daemon Overwatch AU [12]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Chronal Disassociation, F/F, Lots of sadness... lots and lots of it, Major Character Injury, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracer slowly stands, a smile quirking onto her lips. “Would you also like to get drinks this Sunday? Coffee, yeah? I’ll pay!” She said cheerfully, completely undeterred as Widowmaker’s expression shifted into something akin to shock, a darker blue spreading over her cheeks.</p><p>Before Tracer could take the time to comment on it, she heard a click behind her.</p><p>Oh, right.</p><p>The bomb.</p><p> </p><p>More Daemon au, extra sad edition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed! Sad WidowTracer feels... complicated feels...

Widowmaker had seen it all through the scope of her powerful rifle, the flashing and waving lines of blue dashing across the battlefield left and right. She was a winding little snake, writhing this way and then the next in the battlefield, spitting her venom in the form of fast, blue bullets.

Despite Tracer’s quick stepping and bouncing, acrobatic fighting style, her daemon never became unwound from her throat. Charlie fancied himself a scarf of sorts, made of the finest, warmest fur that any aristocrat would be jealous of.

Widowmaker would know, she’d touched him before, held his lithe both in her strong grip and felt his little heart thudding against her palm frantically.

Funny how her heart mirrors the action now, golden eyes wide behind the scope as she listens in on the radio chatter from the other agents. Winston is shouting something about a bomb, about people still in the building. The sniper watches while Tracer pauses, her unique voice wafting through the radio static.

“A bomb? What floor, Winston?” The woman asked, reloading with a flick of her wrist and standing with her back to the cement pillar as bullets pelted the area around her.

The large scientists made the mistake of blurting out the floor number, stressed thanks to their agents all chattering at him in one go.

“Got it, love, I’m on it!” Tracer shouted over the gunfire before suddenly zipping up the stairs at a lightning fast speed, deaf to Winston’s roars of demands and orders for her to _stay put._

Of course, Lena ignored every lick of it.

Something told Widowmaker that this was a bad idea, but she could not remember Talon mentioning a bomb. She felt as if she should _warn_ them, but then the assassin would have to explain how she gathered such sensitive data. Widowmaker had been meaning to inform her employers of her little channel eavesdropping, but it was a luxury that she wasn’t yet willing to give up.

Hearing Lena’s voice on the daily brought a smile to her features, warmed a forgotten part of her that still writhed inside her soul, the chains that had once bound it now loosened.

Preparing her grappling hook, the woman slotted her rifle against her back before swinging off the edge of the nearby tower, intending to enter through a window on the third floor, her mind on getting to the bomb with Tracer.

She told herself that it was to _fight_ against the Overwatch agent and not keep her _safe_ from any blast radius.

Outstretching her legs into a kick, she smashed the window of a, thankfully empty, apartment. Shaking off the glass from her body, the assassin took the time to note some details about her current environment. People were s _creaming,_ running down the halls as the fire alarm roared in their ears. They were being evacuated under heavy gunfire from both sides.

Rolling her eyes and getting her rifle into her hands, the assassin slipped out into the halls, noting where the people were running, down into the parking lot. They’d be safe there, or, as safe as they could be.

She let herself tune out the sound of the citizens’ shouting, instead focusing onto the accented quips coming from the young Overwatch agent. The voice took her into a communal living area, a place for the residents to watch a movie or play cards over a nice drink. However, there was indeed a makeshift device in the area, sitting menacingly by an overturned table. This wasn’t Talon’s work, Widowmaker could tell, she’d planted the bombs before, watched while it decimated meetings and left nothing by screaming rubble in its explosive wake.

This was messy, quick work. Nothing like the smooth operations Talon engaged.

Tracer was crouched beside it, narrowed eyes as she bravely examined the device, her hands pressed against her chest, soothing the nervous ferret along her throat.

“Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll just toss it out towards the -”

“You best not touch it, chérie,” Widowmaker warned, bracing herself as she hefted her weapon up, golden eyes narrowing as Lena whips around to face her, crouched and ready to pounce. “You should leave it be, the evacuation will go smoother with you down in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, luv.” Tracer muttered, smoothing a hand over her daemon’s fur, her own mouth going dry at the sight of Widowmaker. Even in a dire situation, the assassin could still make her heart stop with a single look.

And it wasn’t necessarily from fear, either.

“I would,” Widowmaker says seriously, gesturing towards the door in a rare display of caring. For once, the assassin wasn’t trying to lunge at her throat.

Lena thought that perhaps there was an elephant in the room, an unspoken connection tying them together. Or it could just be the bomb, but Lena liked to keep optimistic.

Tracer slowly stands, a smile quirking onto her lips. “Would you also like to get drinks this Sunday? Coffee, yeah? I’ll pay!” She said cheerfully, completely undeterred as Widowmaker’s expression shifted into something akin to shock, a darker blue spreading over her cheeks.

Before Tracer could take the time to comment on it, she heard a _click_ behind her.

Oh, right.

_The bomb._

Charlie tightened around her neck as she sprung forwards, enveloping the taller assassin into her arms as she blinked them out of the room right as a fiery and intense explosion shredded out of the improvised device.

There had been no counter, no wires. It wasn’t like the movies where a time limit would dramatically count down your demise. This was rookie, plain and simple. They were targeting omnics again, uncaring of their human lovers and friends in the attack. Had Overwatch not descended upon the area thanks to Talon activity, the threat would have gone unnoticed until it was far too late.

And in a simple click off site, somebody had sent the bomb tearing into the building as a last ditch effort to complete their plan, despite the fact that nearly everyone was evacuated.

 _How could anyone be so cruel,_ Tracer thought to herself as she felt shrapnel from the device puncture into her back while the flames of the device pulled a strained cry from her lips.

As the two women tumbled away from the blast of the explosion, Tracer felt herself slip into unconsciousness, listening to Charlier’s nervous and worried chirps along her neck, his presence still comforting despite the pain.

-:-

When she came to, Lena found herself lying on her back in the middle of the wreckage. The building had been torn apart by the force of it, leaving a large hole in the common area as the walls had been smashed and every window on the third floor shattered.

Confused, she opened her mouth, trying to move and breath through the smoky air. Pain flashed through her, spreading outwards from her chest as she shrieked for a moment.

Something - or someone - was touching her, soothing her cries and stilling her movements.

“Do not move, chérie, help is on the way.”

_Was that… Widowmaker?_

Groggily, she focused on the touch, letting her eyes adjust as she found herself cradled in the assassin’s tender grip. Her head was in the taller woman’s lap, those skilled hands pressing against her chest and mouth set into a determined edge.

Charlie was still around her neck, although he was limp and weak. His fur was charred in some areas, much like Lena’s and Widowmaker’s own hair. Ash marks and slight burns appeared against their bodies, both of them having been saved by their clothes.

The rodent drew in a soft, pained gasp, and Lena felt herself completely relax, trying to ignore the pain and focus on the lovely girl leaning over her.

“Are you awake, you foolish girl?” Her words held no bite, only _worry._ Normally serious golden eyes were softened, glinting with the remaining fire burning around them and the crumbling building.

Tracer opened her mouth, only letting out a pained wheeze of a gurgle of something thick wormed its way up her throat. Lurching forwards, she coughed and sputtered, watching while red specks escaped her mouth and clung to her pale lips.

It almost looked like grotesque freckled against her skin, mingling with her natural pigments obscenely.

A wet, pained gasp escaped her as she forced herself to stay upright, despite the pain coursing through her body. “A-Awake, luv, only for you,” She rasped, blinking out the black dots from her vision.

Widowmaker’s touch is feather light along her back, fingertips unable to touch at the bloodied fabric and the metal sticking out of Tracer’s side. She had yet to notice it, the shrapnel lodged into the back of her chest.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Better to keep the agent calm than to make her panic.

“You must control your breathing,” She whispered, tucking a stray lock of ashen hair behind Tracer’s ear fondly. “I know it hurts, darling, but you’re very strong.” Her voice lowered, “Very brave. What were you thinking? Shielding me like that?” Widowmaker turned Lena’s chin towards her, golden eyes finally narrowing. “I can take care of myself, chérie.”

“I know… that,” Tracer muttered, red still clinging to her lips as she spoke, “I just… wanted to make sure… you were… _safe…_ ”

The familiar dark blue blooms across Widowmaker’s features, her blush looking strange with such an abnormal heart rate.

But Lena thinks it's the most _beautiful_ thing in the world as she slumps to the side, losing consciousness once more.

-:-

The next time she wakes, she knows something is wrong immediately. Her chest burns, and it’s hard to breathe. It felt as if she was sinking in a lake, drowning right here on the floor with not a single drop of water in sight.

Punctured lung, she thought belatedly, groaning softly as she feels a firm touch along her harness.

“O-Ow,” She manages, forcing open her eyes and staring through her cracked visor at Widowmaker. It occurs to Lena that she is no longer upright, this time lying on the floor completely as the other woman presses against the growing red on her chest.

“Pain is a good thing,” Widowmaker intones strangely, her eyes shiny, “It means you’re still _alive.”_

Lena’s laugh is painful and brittle, sounding wet and messy as it turns into a desperate cough. Her lungs were trying to expel themselves from the excess blood filling them, blocking out the air that she needed so urgently.

She couldn’t have been out for long, experiencing mini losses of consciousness as her body reeled from the effects of the bombing. It was still unsettling, and Tracer struggled to compose herself and catch her breath.

Through hazy and half-lidded eyes, the agent was suddenly aware of her harness that was being so delicately touched by the sniper’s worried touches. Her normally bright blue accelerator was strangely dim, pulsing weakly as it tried to boot itself back up to normal, safe levels.

Lena felt a sudden rush of panic seized her, gloved hands going to the device strapped onto her as she wheezed, “I-It’s breaking,” She muttered, awe mixing with horror as she suddenly winced, her own hands pulling away slicked with her blood. Freckles stood out against her abnormally pale features as she gurgled out a pained gasp, her gaze locking with Widowmaker’s for a brief moment.

“The shrapnel - I can’t get it out,” The assassin explained softly, fingers pushing down around the sharp metal that was just starting to peek out of Lena’s chest, having pierced her through the back and onwards to her front. “It’s stuck in the device.”

 _“In_ the de...device,” Lena repeated, reaching up with her bloodied fingers to touch at Charlie. The ferret pushes into her soft touch, his heart hammering as he clung tighter to her neck desperately.

“Winston will fix it,” He assured despite his own voice shaking with panic. The daemon nuzzled against her cheek, frantic eyes closing as he curled his tail around them protectively. He could feel his own energy slowly seeping away as Tracer’s body began to collapse.

Lena had always known what serving meant, the invisible axe that hung above them, ready to punish the slightest mistake or miscalculation with death. It was all part of being an agent of Overwatch, the threats, the unspoken principles.

They were here to help people first, to put the public before their own lives.

To give their lives for the greater good.

All this time, Tracer knew that it was only a matter of time until that axe fell and her blood and soul joined the ranks of the other fallen agents before her.

“The monkey?” Widowmaker questioned, her gaze hardening. “I can lead them here, the exits are unstable - I can get help,” The woman went to rise to her feet, her stern touches leaving Tracer’s wounds.

In a flash, the younger had reached up to secure a grip over one of her wrists, staring up at the assassin with a pained smile. “Please don’t… leave, luv,” She gasped, tugging the startled sniper back down, “They’ll get h-here, yeah? The cavalry _n-never_ leaves us behind…”

“Foolish girl,” Widowmaker spat, but she sat down slowly, trying to ignore the way her chest ached. It felt as if her heart was beating faster almost, the normal rhythms painful and unknown to the Talon agent. “Let me help you.”

“You are,” Lena whispered, her hand unable to hold on for long, already slipping from the assassin’s arm. _I don’t want to die alone._

Widowmaker gently caught her hand, holding it tenderly as she scooted closer, “I don’t see how sitting her is going to help you,” She hissed gently, reaching over with her free hand to push the hair from Tracer’s damp brow.

The agent sent her a dazed smile that was rimmed with red, “T-Trust me, luv, you… you’re helping more t-than you realize.”

Tracer felt her heart swell as she saw a very slight curve appear on Widowmaker’s lips, the simple and small smile making her soar -

Right up until she heard a loud _pop,_ both agents freezing as her harness went dark. Charlie chirped in fear and the young woman felt as if she was now free falling, her heart in her throat and painful panic gripping her once more.

Her accelerator was built to last, but lately, she’d been pushing it to limits. It was only a matter of time until she found the endurance limit, Winston had warned her. It was now a horrifying reality, the lack of the blue lighting, of the energy that tethered her into this time period and dimension was _gone._

She was going to be lost again, tossed between worlds and stuck living as a ghost until… well, forever, if she was really unlucky.

But they wouldn’t leave her - Winston and the others wouldn’t give up on her -

“Chérie? Look at me, _focus,”_ The assassin was suddenly shouting, pulling the terrified woman from her dark thoughts. Widowmaker was leaning over her, hands fluttering over the bloodied device frantically before she pulled her touch away. “I’m going to get Winston and the others.”

The Talon agent didn’t care about the lines and the agendas that separated the two organizations, she could care less about putting herself in danger. If Reaper could bend the rules to fit his desires, then so could she. And if anyone disagreed? She’d show them just how powerful she had become…

Golden eyes saw a flicker of movement, Tracer reaching towards her again before she could stand, the younger’s eyes wide and frantic behind her orange visor. Her bloodied lips and pallor made the assassin pause, it made her uneasy - an ugly and unkempt mass of emotions peeking out of her body slowly. The other woman’s pain and suffering made her feel _something…_ anger… worry… guilt.

She reached out despite her instincts telling her to run off and get help, her heart ruled right now - and it told her that Tracer didn’t deserve to be abandoned again. There was a strange comfort that came with touching Tracer, the younger so alive and full of boundless energy, something that Widowmaker could admire.

However, there was no familiar and odd comfort as she reached out to catch Tracer’s hand, there was no warmth that made her heart stutter - there was nothing but an icy feeling of wrongness.

Their hands never touched, Lena reaching towards her, her fingers outstretched and breathing erratic as her hand went right through Widowmaker’s own searching touch. They both paused, staring at the sight of Tracer’s faded hand, her body almost looking translucent and washed down.

 _Like a ghost,_ Widowmaker supplied, her heart aching as she watched realization dawn on the young woman’s face.

“No, n-no, _please,”_ Lena whispered, trying again to grab at her and only shrieking when her touch went right through again. The scream brought more blood rushing up from her lips, the girl’s cries turning into painful and wet hacks as her body tried to rid itself of the thick mess blocking her airways.

It was painful to watch, Lena wringing herself out with panic and pain.

Widowmaker watched while Lena made a bloody and spattered mess of herself, the blood standing out against her pale body and dirtied clothes. Her daemon was shaking, fur puffed up and eyes wide and worried as he felt his human counterpart slipping away.

“Chérie,” Widowmaker tried to soothe, ignoring the own shaking of her voice and the fear that burned through her, “Darling, please, it’s alright - I’m not going anywhere.”

Lena fell back against the ground with weak and desperate breaths, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at those golden eyes. “B-But _I am,_ l-luv,” She whispered, blinking as clear tears rolled down the sides of her face and into her hairline.

Was she going to be stuck on the verge of death forever? Locked in a hellish torment of never living, of never _existing?_ Of never being _freed_ from this life?

“No, you’re not. _Focus,_ chérie,” Widowmaker whispered, longing to touch the other woman, to hold her tight and promise her the world, but unwilling to send Lena into another bloodied coughing fit.

Tracer whimpered, feeling herself slowly start to float despite her body remaining stationary. A sudden helplessness made her cry even harder, her very existence taken from her once again. “I’m so-sorry… I-I tried.”

“No, darling, there is nothing to be sorry for,” Widowmaker shushed her, biting her lip for a moment as she clenched her hands into fists. “You’re going to be alright-”

“T-Tried to make it… _right…_ I-I know you’re alone,” Lena coughed weakly, “I-I wanted… want to help…” The agent sucked in a wheezing breath between her teeth, tasting blood on her tongue as darkness started to tunnel her vision achingly slow. “I know… I k-know that you are… not a _m-monster_ like they say… I-I -”

_I only wanted to help._

“Chérie, breathe.”

_I wanted to bring you back._

It was getting too hard. Breathing was too hard. Her lungs ached, feeling as if they might burst while her throat was clogged to the maximum. Red dribbled out of her mouth after every word, her body going lax and limp as she felt herself slipping away.

Charlie was still around her neck, his heart slowed and body draped across her. At least, she thought, she’d never be truly alone.

“A...Amélie,” Tracer whispered brokenly, her eyes finally sliding closed as her body knelt down to death’s conquering embrace.

_I loved you - I always will._

_Maybe I was just selfish..._

That single word - that name - punched right through Widowmaker, the assassin’s heart stilling for a moment and her mind spinning with confusion and contempt. Before she could react, Lena was fading right before her very eyes. The daemon was going right along with her, both of them fading from this time frame… and this life.

“No, chérie, stay with me,” Widowmaker shouted, lurching forwards desperately. Her skilled hands could climb anything, could break a man’s neck or locate agonizing pulse points - but no matter how hard she tried, she could not reach Lena Oxton. “Chérie - Lena!”

But it was too late.

Lena and Charlie were already faded, leaving nothing but blood and their haunting words behind.

Widowmaker stared hard at the spot where Tracer once lie, her hands pushing against the bloodied ground in disbelief.

“No… chérie…”

Gone… gone, they were _gone._

And for _what?_ For petty hatred?

So consumed by Talon’s orders, the assassin had blocked out the sun. And when she finally opened her eyes to look, that bright light in her life had been _extinguished._

Something nasty and rageful broke free from its bonds deep inside her, a forgotten strength reawakened only by sheer pain and regret.

_She was too late._

The assassin’s hands clenched into fists, her eyes squeezing closed as her own heart started to beat painfully quick in her chest, veins and arteries expanding as her sorrow grew.

Such hatred and pain consumed her entire being for a moment, Widowmaker tossing her head back and scratching at the ground desperately, wishing - longing - _mourning._

Down on the street, where the civilians cowered and the Overwatch agents counted heads, all was stilled when a powerful and mournful _scream_ echoed from the destroyed building above them.

Somewhere, in an old Talon lab, locked away in a forgotten cell, a once sleeping beast rattled the doors with a strong mourning cry of its own. The scientists all paused as the sound shook the area, their hearts in their throats as the beast’s pure sorrow poured out in the sounds of roars and a chorus of rattling chains.

A daemon was always connected to its other half.

And when you awakened a daemon from its _forced_ slumber, the beast within _consumes all._

**Author's Note:**

>  **EDIT (just end notes); Before you comment, please read** : Yes, Tracer and Charlie are deceased in this fic, or so Widowmaker thinks. That doesn't mean we won't be seeing any more of Tracer! I have a creative license, and as the writer, I can shape the outcome the way I want. This is honestly a series that is made up of a collection of drabbles that aren't _always_ connected to each other. A lot of you readers also want to see Tracer's daemon and Widowmaker's daemon interact (and so do I) so there is a _huge_ chance that Tracer and Charlie will be returning from their dissociation 'death'. If you read all this, kudos and hugs to you!  <3
> 
>  
> 
> Dun DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. This was really hard to write, so I hope it was semi-okay? ;__;
> 
> I would love to hear feedback on this guys! <3 Thanks so much for reading~


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